By Amy Nicholson
By Stephanie Zacharek
By Calum Marsh
By Stephanie Zacharek
By Inkoo Kang
By Voice Film Critics
By Alan Scherstuhl
By Alan Scherstuhl
Blood Simple, which reopens this week in a remixed and slightly reedited version the Coen brothers are calling the "director's cut," gave further notice that the material that had once been the province of Hollywood B movies was now up for grabs. Taking its title from Dashiell Hammett and borrowing a situation from James M. Cain, the Coen's 1984 debut was arguably the most influential noir since Chinatown (and until Reservoir Dogs). More specifically, Blood Simple gave an already highly aestheticized mode an ironic honky-tonk spinor, rather, twangwhile creating a precedent for indies like One False Move, Red Rock West, and Bound, as well as everything ever adapted from Jim Thompson.
Thus the movie became a cultural landmark after all. Nothing if not self-aware, the Coens are fully cognizant of this fact. Their rereleased Blood Simple may be the first so-called director's cut to be shorter than the original-release version, but that's only so they can include another joke. Actually, the new version is exactly the same length as the original because the filmmakers have added an introduction in which a distributor identified as Mortimer Young credits Blood Simple with "ushering in the era of independent cinema" and claims that now that the movie has been "digitally enhanced and tastefully restored" (with the "boring parts" excised and the unmistakable voice of Holly Hunter revealed on a telephone answering machine), it will be "forever young."
The Perfect Storm
Directed by Wolfgang Petersen
Written by Bill Wittliff from the book by Sebastian Junger
A Warner Bros. release
Directed by Zhang Yang
Written by Zhang, Liu Fen Dou, Huo Xin, Diao Yi Nan, and Cai Xiang Jun
A Sony Pictures Classics release
Opens July 7
This epithet has a double meaning. Blood Simple is not exactly in the Strike-Citizen Kane-Breathless league, but if there ever was a movie-brat debut, it's the Coens' aggressively stylish mixture of showboat formalism and insouciant nose-thumbing. The movie's Texas landscape is as deliberate as its low-budget economy is ostentatious. This motel-room, two-lane-blacktop love triangle gone sour is a movie of suspicious minds and cartoonish performances. Glowering cuckold Dan Hedaya can hold the screen and nominal heroine Frances McDormand is scarcely less focused here than she would be in Fargo, while M. Emmett Walsh's good-old-boy affability is allowed to develop a suitably psychotic edge. Fall guy John Getz is the weak linkmonotonously dry-mouthed and angst-ridden, he seems to be the one participant not in on the joke.
From the initial storyboard to the final sound design, Blood Simple is a supremely calculated intellectual exercise. The super-studied, neon-colored compositions are stippled by perfectly arranged shadows. In addition to its cast, Blood Simple boasts some distinguished creditsit was the first feature shot by cinematographer-turned-director Barry Sonnenfeld and the first scored by the prolific composer Carter Burwell. There are some classic attention-grabbers, and the movie builds to a stunning denouementincluding the horrendous image of an impaled handthat owes a bit to the Coens' erstwhile mentor, Sam "Evil Dead" Raimi. (A dozen years later, Raimi would return the compliment with his succès d'estime A Simple Plan.)
Unextended to their characters, the Coens' generosity is expressed mainly in the movie's trove of sight gags, visual surprises, and little knickknacks to keep the frame busy. There is the sense that the Coens are examining life under a microscope or putting rats through mazes for their own amusement. Blood Simple features a hero so stupid that he manages to frame himself, even as he squanders whatever audience sympathy he might have earlier enjoyed. From first shot to last, the Coens seldom miss an opportunity to suggest that theirs is a movie made by evolutionarily advanced life-forms touring a primitive planet.
When I reviewed Blood Simple 15 years ago, I wrote that the film had "the heart of a Bloomingdale's window and the soul of a résumé." Though I still feel that way, the Coens eventually grew upor, rather, brought themselves down. With Fargo and The Big Lebowski, the brothers subsumed their own egos into those of their starswhich is to say they finally managed to place their precocious virtuosity in the service of something approaching human warmth.
If Blood Simple is forever young, The Perfect Storm is instantly old. Wolfgang Petersen's $140 million adaptation of Sebastian Junger's best-selling account of a Gloucester fishing boat lost in the great nor'easter of '91 opens with a squall of anticipatory clichés, busily stowing away human interest to be used once the shit hits the fanor, rather, the big blue screen.
Captain Billy Tyne (George Clooney) is in a slump. His last catch was a record low, and so, although it's dangerously late in the season, he ships back out for one last job, browbeaten crew in tow. The money is as lousy as the risks are great, and as a long scene in a rowdy fishermen's bar makes clear, the romance of the sea is a less potent hook than working-class heroism and everyday aspiration. The filmmakers are particularly anxious to make sure we understand that Bobby Shatford (Mark Wahlberg) and Christine Cotter (Diane Lane) are more than the town's hottest couple. These are lovers whose transcendent passion would make that of Leo and Kate seem a fickle flirtation.
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